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writing-for-amusement · 5 years

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Commission for Confidence, 2

Summary: Y/N has been struggling with her self esteem for years. After incessant pushing from your best friend, Y/N decides to commission an artist to draw her, expecting everything to happen via Internet. However, when your phone is stolen, you try to cancel the commission, but Peter Parker has other ideas. He quickly becomes enraptured by you, and a friendship forms easily. Will it lead to something more? Or will your past fears get in the way?

A/N: Okay, this chapter is necessary, but almost considered filler because you still haven’t met Peter yet. I’m probably going to post Chapter 3 in a couple of hours because I’m impatient and since it’s already written, why not, right? Anyway, I hope you enjoy it!

Taglist: @pparkerwrites, @scatterbrainedgenius

Chapter Two

The next day ended up being much more hectic than you had anticipated. You woke up on time, but due to typical New York rain, your walk was littered with slips and multiple splashes. Not only that, your train ran late, and you were groped a surprising three times.

It was not a good day and it hadn’t even started yet.

You strode into work, dripping wet and with a mud stain on the bottom of your skirt and across your legs, but with your head held high.

You enjoyed your work as an editor for a publishing company. You’d moved from home to settle down in Manhattan for this job (though you were living in Queens); you had your own office with a view, and you were doing something you enjoyed. You got to read the fiction works and decide if it was good enough to move on and become a book (sometimes you got to help artists organize their works into a book). It was lovely for you, a wonderful job to have at what was considered a “young” age.

You dropped your bag on your desk and hurried to the break room. Arthur, a friend you had made immediately upon arrival, was refilling his coffee cup. He looked up at you and grinned, but that changed into concern when he saw your haggard appearance.

“Jesus, love, what happened? Shall I call up Charlie and have him bring you some clean clothes? They’ll be too big, of course, but—”

“It’s fine, Arthur!” you laughed, grabbing the coffee mug you had put into the break room. You poured yourself a large cup and just the smell started to warm your cold bones. “I’ll dry off soon enough.”

“This isn’t your old job, you know you can go home to change and won’t be punished, right?” Arthur asked with a chuckle on his lips.

You threw a sugar packet at him. “I know that, it’s not like I’m new here anymore! Besides, if I get sick, it’s not going to cost me a kidney and a leg because we have insurance.”

“No, it won’t do that,” he agreed as he picked up the packet.

“I’m getting to work,” you informed him, clutching the mug of coffee in your hands and scuttering to your office.

Work happened to be incredibly busy. There were more than thirty transcripts on your desk to work on, several of them rather thick. You actually ended up skipping lunch, instead snacking on an apple you had shoved in your purse before leaving your apartment. Of course, you were reminded of how you worked yourself to the bone when you first arrived at this job.

With the stressful echoes of your horrible old job ringing in your mind, you had worked harder than ever to prove yourself in NYC. Your supervisor was quick to notice how you showed up early and stayed late, reading and marking more than anyone. She pulled you aside, kindly informing you that she knew you were capable, otherwise you wouldn’t have been hired for the job. She also told you to “calm the fuck down” and that, “no one is judging you here, my dear.” It had been incredibly helpful to your adjustment.

Truth be told, you had wanted to hide from your horrible morning. When the day got off to such a rough start, you liked to hide yourself in the transcripts so that you could focus on potentially bolstering the dreams of the authors.

As it neared time to go home, your supervisor appeared at your door. “Hey, Y/N, go ahead and go home. I know you showed up soaked, you deserve an early start to the weekend. Go on, go.”

“Okay, okay, I’ll go, Edith, I’ll go,” you sighed playfully. She smiled at you and blew a small kiss before walking off.

Knowing that it would be a simple night in for you, you grabbed some transcripts to look at over the weekend. With that, and your coffee mug washed, you walked out of the office and into the Manhattan late afternoon sunlight.

It was a calmer commute back to your apartment. At least, it was until you got home.

Your phone was gone.

It must have been taken while you were on the subway, even though you tried so hard to remain vigilant. Knowing New York City, it was gone forever now, and you needed to get to work on not letting people get your information from it.

You logged on to your laptop and quickly went to your phone provider, going through the steps outlined in the “Stolen Phone” section. Losing your phone was not ideal, but you had a plan that covered this situation, so it could have been worse. And, thankfully, you had just backed your phone up to the cloud when you were at work.

After filling out the proper steps, you went to your email inbox and sent out a mass email to your colleagues, letting them know that your phone had been stolen and to email you if they needed anything over the weekend. It was then that you remembered your plan to take reference photos for Peter.

With a sigh, you realized that it would be a better idea to postpone the commission than to keep the seemingly sweet Peter waiting. You began to compose your email, once again thinking too much and taking probably too long for what should have been a simple email. Still, you ended up with this:

“Hi Peter,

I am so sorry, but today my phone was stolen thanks to the ever so amazing New York City subway. I unfortunately do not have another way to take reference photos (none of my friends are available), and I don’t want to fill a spot for your commission that won’t be able to be finished for a while, because my phone is being shipped and won’t be in for about a week. Therefore, so I don’t waste your time, I need to cancel the commission. I’m sorry if I did waste your time.

Thank you for your understanding, Peter. Perhaps I can commission you (for realsies) in the future. I still love your art, btw.

Y/N”

With a deep sigh, you ran a hand through your hair and sent Monica a message on Facebook, explaining the situation. She, of course, sent back multiple sad face emojis, but was overall understanding. Then she offered to hunt down whoever stole your phone and beat them up for making you stressed, which made you laugh.

You ordered some Thai food so that you wouldn’t have to make anything. After the day you’d had, the last thing you wanted was to get sweaty from standing over the hot stove.

As you settled into your couch to wait, with your laptop open next to you so you could message Monica, you got a notification for another email. You saw it was from Peter, and a melancholy smile touched your face.

“Hi Y/N!

Omg you live in the NYC area too??? In that case, if you’re comfortable with it, we could actually do your stuff in person! Only if you’re comfortable with it, of course, and I’d like to meet for coffee before we begin. Getting to know my muse is my favorite part of commissions; usually I just ask questions via email, but this way, we both get coffee!!

Please let me know if you’d be interested in meeting up for coffee in Manhattan this weekend; I think it would be very beneficial.

Thanks, and (hopefully) see you soon!

Peter”

You blinked in surprise after reading the email fifteen times.

Peter was certainly passionate about art and about coffee. Though you didn’t blame him, because as an artist who went through a prestigious university, Peter probably lived almost solely on the beverage for four years. You debated whether you should take him up on his offer, because, well, you did want to meet him.

You were still thinking about it when you turned on your TV and selected the HULU app. You were still thinking about it when you picked a random episode of The Golden Girls. And you were still thinking about it when you answered your door for your takeout.

Finally, as you began to dig into your food, you made your decision. With your takeout container in one hand, you replied to Peter’s email with the other. You suggested your favorite coffee shop, Constellation Bakery and Café, and suggested meeting tomorrow. The ambiance was calm and friendly, so you thought it would be a good meeting place.

After informing Monica of the change in plans, you ate your Thai takeout with a vigor you didn’t know you had. The food was exceptionally delicious today, and the cooks always gave you extra shrimp in your shrimp pad Thai. The comforting food warmed you to the core, and you felt a lot more relaxed than you had in days, even weeks.

Before you went to bed, you got a reply from Peter, agreeing to meet with you at the coffee shop at 1 p.m. With an excited smile on your face, you actually fell asleep easily.

#peter parker x reader #peter parker x plus size reader #peter parker x insecure!reader #artist!peter parker #spider-man x reader #spider-man x plus size reader #reader insert #commission for confidence

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hollandsmoose · 5 years

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higher (part 2)

A/N: This took ages to write, I’m sorry. It’s also basically just angst, so I’m also sorry about that. Part 3 will definitely happen, though. So here you go, sweethearts, here’s 1.3k of pure angst!

part 1 in masterlist

—————–

When Shawn wakes up, he feels like shit. It’s not just the hangover rearing its ugly head; it’s the guilt too. It nags and nags and nags at him, and he can’t bear it.

When he rolls over to grab his phone, he’s expecting to find some messages from you - at least just one, asking if he got home alright. Shawn is severely disappointed, though; he doesn’t find any messages. It’s unlike you to not text him, and it worries him. So much so, that he reaches out first.

Shawn: Sorry about last night, baby. You okay? x

He sits up and places his feet on the floor, the surface cold on his bare skin. It tickles a little, and - almost shocked by the icy temperature, Shawn hisses. He staggers to the bathroom, phone in hand, and in there he takes a look at himself in the mirror.

He stares at his reflection, feeling a bit like he doesn't recognize himself anymore. Of course, he looks like he always does, maybe more haggard than usual, but something feels changed. Something has changed. He's changed.

The guilt is eating Shawn alive, and he knows damn well that it's his own fucking fault. He needs to see you again. He needs to hold you, he needs to kiss you, and he needs to forget about last night. That's why he's even more thrilled when you text back.

You: I'm coming over.

Shawn doesn't think much of the tone of your text, short and blunt with no emojis or anything. He simply shrugs it off and hurries to brush his teeth so that he can jump in the shower. There's a distinct smell to Shawn, a mix of alcohol and cigarettes, one he supposes you must have endured last night.

You're a subject that occupies him completely when he's under the steady stream of hot water. He doesn't know what to do. He'd promised you to be patient - to wait for you. He can't even imagine how much it would devastate you to find out that he had - even for a split second, been ready to throw it all away, that he'd told you that he loved you but had still wanted to hurt you as some kind of petty revenge.

So Shawn makes up his mind. He won't tell you. He won't tell you about any of this. You'll be better off not knowing. He's sure of it.

Out of the shower, he dries off, wrapping a towel around his waist, and then he gets to cleaning up. The guys were here last night pregaming, and the condo looks like it’s been bombed. He manages to have the bedroom and whole kitchen/living area cleaned up by the time you ask to be let in.

Shawn feels a bit relieved when you’re on the way up in the elevator. It’s like the prospect of seeing you again lifts a weight off his shoulders, and he lets himself relax a little too much.

“Hi, baby,” Shawn greets, pressing a short kiss to your cheek, once he’s opened the door. “I’ll be right back. Just gonna put some clothes on.” He doesn’t give you a chance to reply, running back to his bedroom.

In there, he throws on a pair of boxers, some sweatpants and whatever hoodie he can find. It’s only when he returns that he takes notice of your expression. You’re standing with your back against the kitchen island, eyes watery as you stare at him. Shawn knows then. He doesn’t need you to tell him what’s wrong. He knows that you know.

“We need to talk,” you say, and even though you’re close to tears, your voice remains strong and stern. All Shawn can do is nod, and he moves a little closer, seeing how you back up, pressing against the counter even more. He stops moving. “Last night… did you hook up with a girl before you came to see me?” Shawn has to consider his words carefully, so he decides to start off with a gesture. He shakes his head. “Don’t lie to me, Shawn.”

“Y/N, I swear to you I didn’t hook up with her,” he begins desperately, running a hand through his hair. “I talked to her, yeah, but nothing happened,” You don’t seem convinced, though. “Can we sit?” You hesitate for a moment, but then you follow him to the couch where you sit as far away from him as possible.

You bring your knees up to your chest. “I want you to tell me everything. Those pictures don’t look innocent,”

Shawn gulps, aware of what he has to say now. “They weren’t… they weren’t, uh, completely innocent,” He sees how you hide your face against your thighs, and his heart sinks.

“What does that mean?”

“It’s hard to explain,”

“Is it, though?” you ask, raising your head to glare at him. “And why?” Shawn sits there, speechless. “Why is it hard to explain?”

“Baby, I-”

“Don’t start with that shit, Shawn,” you interrupt with a sigh. “Don’t call me that.”

“Okay,” he concedes, trying to accommodate you as much as possible. He knows he needs to. “Nothing happened with me and that girl, but I did flirt with her,” You look away. “I’m sorry.” You take an audible deep breath, shaky and exhausted, and it’s the kind one takes to keep from crying.

You look at him again, shooting him a hard glance. “Why couldn’t you have done it somewhere without a thousand cameras?”

He’s lost. Shawn has no idea what to say now. He can lie, say he hadn’t thought of it or something like that. He could also tell the truth, and he knows he should, but he doesn’t want to. He really doesn’t. Your heart is probably already breaking, and now he’s going to have to twist the knife.

He can’t look at you while he says it. “Because I wanted you to see. Because I wanted to hurt you,”

That’s the breaking point for you. You hide your face in your legs again, but Shawn can hear the sobs, every single one of them breaking his heart in turn. You’re gasping for air, whimpers leaving you, and all he can do is reach for you, placing his hand on your arm in an attempt to comfort you, but you jerk away.

“Don’t touch me!”

Shawn follows orders immediately and draws back. It’s heart-wrenching to watch how you bring your arms around your knees, hugging yourself, offering yourself a comfort you won’t have from him. It’s what he deserves, and he knows that.

He deserves to feel like the worst fucking person on Earth. Maybe because he is. He certainly feels that way.

Nothing can be heard in the room except your sobs that turn into sniffles once you calm down. Your face reappears, but you keep your gaze fixed straight ahead. Every moment is torture for Shawn, and nothing really happens for a good few minutes.

But then you move. You put your feet back on the floor, hands clenched into fists by your sides.

“I’m gonna go,” you croak out, not giving him enough time to protest. “Don’t text me. Don’t call me. Don’t show up at my door,” And then you get up and walk to the door, not even looking back. You pull on your shoes and grab your coat. “Goodbye.”

Shawn is frozen to the spot. He has no idea what to say. He has no idea how to make this better. Maybe he should run after you, fall on his knees, beg you to hear him out, tell you how much he loves you. He doesn’t.

And the sound of the door slamming behind you feels like the final nail in the coffin. You’re gone.

—————–

@sauveteen @flickershawn @peachnpomegranate @yellowitsmendes @me-a-hopeless-romantic @couple100miles @rishlo @bluerroses @nervousroses @shavvnmendcs @rechema (lmk if you want on/off the taglist)

#mine #text #shawn mendes #shawn mendes fanfiction #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes fic #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes angst #shawn mendes oneshot #shawn mendes series #shawn peter raul mendes

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apricot--pprincess-blog · 6 years

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Flannel - The Cardboard Swords

This is sorta different but this song has always been there for me during breakups. It’s so perfect and I know all too well about the message it conveys. Especially in the spoken word portion. Basically I’m gonna be writing a short story in context to these songs, maybe add some Easter eggs eluding to my real life. I don’t know if this has been done before but sit down and buckle up. Because this is how I express myself and it’s gonna be a doozy.

I got the shirt at a yard sale, I knew she’d like it. It was a faded yellow flannel with red and blue lines of various diameters, “I’ll just give it to ya’. That flannel did me good. It’s about time I pack up anyways.”, said a grumbly old voice. When I looked up it belonged to the owner of the shirt. A haggard old man I’ve seen walk around her neighborhood with an equally old and worn-down mixed breed dog, “Thank you. You moving out?” I said, I wanted to be nice. Even though he just let me have a flannel I felt like I owed him something more. “Yep. Ol’ Archie and I better go to our hometown...” I found out Archie was his dog, and his name was Oscar, he continued to tell me about the place he grew up in too. A city in New Jersey. He came to Michigan because he liked the cold and was tired of his old town, but now he says he wants to go home before it’s his time to go. By the time we stopped talking the sky was a bit darker, but still blue. “Well, thank you. I should go. Good luck moving.” I started walking away and waved, he waved back and his face warmed up, “See ya, kid.” He wouldn’t but it was a comforting goodbye.

I hopped into my car and started driving to her house. I looked out the window, checking if she went to my house first, then after driving past the book store I work at and concluding she wasn’t there waiting for me went to her place. My phone buzzed and I looked down on it, her name popping up with the green heart emoji next to it. I didn’t check it because I kind of really don’t want to die and continued on my route.

Not too long after I put the flannel on, it was getting kind of cold and walked into her house, finally reading the text. “V for Vendetta today?” We hung out like we usually did. Watched “V For Vendetta” and made fun of the kids at our school. I loved her so much. She was so unique and different but we were so similar. Her hair a dyed and faded red, left frizzy and wavy and short. She had freckles on her cheeks who always had a soft blush. She had a tiny button nose that she hated. And she had the lightest of green eyes. She was so small and so hopelessly devoted to me. Or so I thought.

Finally, it was summer. We finished High School together, something we’ve always been dreaming of. In the last minutes of homeroom I felt a buzz from my phone, her green emoji name popping up along with a list of or other friends’ names above the words, “let’s all go to the lake after school ?” I quickly tapped back, hoping Mrs. Robins wouldn’t see, “you guys bring the drinks and blankets and whatever. i got the pizza” we never drank alcohol, both of us having lives been haunted by the stuff. Her dad drank like he liked it. Nobody really does, people just like being drunk. Just like nobody likes breathing, you just do it because you like being alive (at least most do). The ball rang and everyone flooded the halls. It’s a miracle I got out without injuries, I sent a tiny sarcastic thank you up to Jesus and I got in my old red car, I was wearing the flannel and a Bad Religion shirt that she loved so much. She traced the words with her tiny finger lazily saying, “Now that I look at it, I’ve never loved Bad Religion more.” I smiled, “You don’t listen to Bad Religion.” with a small chuckle she let out, “Yeah. But you do.” and kissed me with such ease that only she could. When we touched, even minor things like accidentally bumping into each other in my cramped kitchen, I felt electric. Nobody in the world has ever made me feel that since her faded red head walked out my front door for the last time.

Though the hottest month in Michigan is usually July it was pretty warm. She was wearing dark blue ripped shorts and a cut up Anti-Flag shirt I got her forever ago. Everyone was already cuddled up with their sweethearts next to the lake, laughing and eating and drinking whatever they brought. “Finally. Was there all of a sudden traffic? Or did you guys make a quick pit stop?” Her best friend let out, of course he didn’t really mean a pit stop he was too cocky for that, “Actually, I didn’t have to ride in his janky car today.” I chimed in, “Excuse me? Cherry Red is a goddess and you will not disrespect her and go unpunished.” I narrowed my eyes at her and she let out a small laugh, “Sure, whatever. Let’s get in on this.” We sat next to her cocky and closest friend, and she took a seat on my lap and covered both of our bodies with a dark purple blanket, planting a kiss on my cheek. “I love you.” I kissed her nose back, “I love you too.” she smiled and we started joking around with our friends. The pizza was gone in a matter of seconds and everyone took turns telling crazy stories and having a fun time. Eventually our friend group seemed to shrink, people leaving to probably make out at each other’s houses probably. “Are you guys gonna come with us?” Our three best friends asked, not wanting to be rude. They were going to the mall and I knew she wouldn’t want to go. “No, I wanna stay for a bit longer.” And I being, the incredibly amazing sweetheart that I am, stayed with her until it got dark. Hours of laying on her blanket and making each other laugh I got up, “Remember when you disrespected Cherry Red and thought you got off the hook earlier?” She looked up at me, “I would never do such a thing.” I grabbed her hand and pulled her up, “Well no bad doings go without repercussions or whatever. We’re diving.” I pulled her to the edge of the water and took off the flannel, knowing I’d need it after since we’d both be freezing and soaking wet.

“No, you’re diving and I’m watching. I’m not an idiot.” I looked down at her eyes and found a sparkle in them, picking her up suddenly like I always did and jumped into the water. She laughed and screamed, obviously loving it. After swimming and splashing with the occasional kissing (making out) for about 10 minutes we got out and I gave her the flannel, covering her up with the purple blanket and running to her car.

“I hate you.” she said, as she turned on the heater in her tiny car and got out of her t-shirt and shorts, changing into a pair of black and white gym shorts and a different t-shirt, adding the flannel for extra warmth, not wanting to die of hypothermia. “No you don't.”, I said. We were both looking at each other, taking it in. Little would I know this was one of the last times I would feel like she loved me back. We kissed, her tiny pink lips feeling cold against mine. When she finally pulled away they were a darker shade, I always thought about how I was the reason her lips were a darker pink, her cheeks a rosier blush, and her life a little sunnier.

“Your dad will kill you if you come home any later.” I said, starting to gather my thoughts. It wasn’t even that late. “You’re right. Get out.” she smiled and left a kiss on my nose this time, softly shoving my shoulder. “Text me when you get home.” I added, and got out of her blue car, the smell of vanilla car freshener leaving with me.

That was the second to last time we were in love. The last time was the beginning of the day I found out she would leave me. It was sudden, sort of. She went to a concert with her cocky friend and others, I told her I’d stay home since my dad recently broke his arm at work. She broke up with me the next morning, coming over and saying goodbye. Four days later it became known to me she had kissed her friend that day. While I was at home trying to be there for my dad and cheering him up.

Now we don’t talk. I drive a different route from work to my own house just so I wouldn't see her on her front lawn with her bikini on getting a tan. Here’s the thing: life may or may not be about finding true love but, it’s certainly not about begging for it from someone. Now that I’m alone I’ll keep doing the things that I do, late nights, fat blunts, pizza pies with my crew, driving home from whatever bar’s half-off after two, while I’m blasting my favorite tunes and seeing my local favorite bands at whatever venues while you keep doing the things that you do shifting blame and twisting truth and making absolutely, positively sure that everybody in the room is certain that the victim just had to be you. Well, I’ll keep doing the things that I do and I’ll find someone who wants me like I wanted you. Someone somewhere said all good things end, so what in my mind made me think this time would be different?

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I dunno if you caught it but the bolded lines were lines that related to my life specifically. the bolded and italicized lines were the lines from the song.

#thecardboardswords #flannel #shortstory #longstory #thissucks #breakups #lameboyfriends #indiemusic #music #indie

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